


as we stumble along

by michaelfalls



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din moves in with Cobb after Chapter 16, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelfalls/pseuds/michaelfalls
Summary: it is officially din's first morning without grogu.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 65
Kudos: 355





	as we stumble along

_A speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole._   
**Sleeping At Last**

"We're here," Boba declares, the Slave I rotating and carefully landing in the sands of Tatooine. The suns have set, making the planet only slightly less dim than the darkness of the void of space, and Din is glad for the lack of harsh light. Though the helmet's visor helps to dampen the glaring view, he's not excited about it being a new day yet. Fennec, sitting across from him at first, slowly rises from her seat.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stick with us?" she asks. It's almost odd for the sharpshooter to extend such an offer, but Din supposes that perhaps there was a small chance that she and Boba actually liked having him around. "Would be better than Tatooine."

The truth is, Din had thought about asking Boba if he would be welcome to reside on his ship with them. He'd imagined a new life where he'd attempt (and fail) to fill the empty space Grogu's departure left in his heart with new companions, and he'd imagined those new companions to be Boba Fett and Fennec Shand. But for all the trouble the two had gone through to help reunite him with Grogu, Din simply cannot imagine his new life to be with them. He feels too out of place with them. Even now, he struggles to feel comfortable in Boba's ship.

"No, thank you," Din says, standing as well as Boba appears. The three of them walk to the doorway of the ship and Din stops at the ramp, turning to face them once more. "Thank you for everything you have done. I appreciate it. If there is anything you need help with in the future..."

"We know where to find you," Boba says. "Farewell, my friend."

Din walks off the ramp and his boots tread metal to sand. He looks up and watches the Slave I rotating back into its vertical position, ascending into the sky until it jumps into hyperspace, disappearing into a pinprick. Just like that, Din is alone once more, nothing on him but his armour, Grogu's ball and the Beskar spear.

After the unnamed Jedi and his droid took Grogu — after Grogu had decided to go with him and study the ways of the Jedi — Bo-Katan had felt too guilty at the prospect of challenging Din to a duel for the darksaber, especially after the realisation that Din not only lost his child but also everything he owned and that he had destroyed his creed. Bo-Katan thought it cruel to challenge a man who had nothing left, so she simply asked for the darksaber and said nobody had to know she didn't win it. Din agreed that the lack of a fight will never leave that room.

Din's feet are heavy as he trudges through the sand, checking his map to make sure he's on the right path. The last time he had been on Tatooine, he had seen Peli Motto again and she'd cleaned up some functions on the Razor Crest with her droids, cooing over Grogu who had learnt how to make some new sounds since the last time they met. Now, Din had neither ship nor son, and he certainly didn't think Peli would want to know that Grogu wasn't going to be seen for a long while. He knew Peli had a soft spot for the child.

So he skips on Mos Eisley and heads straight for Mos Pelgo because — _because_. Because there's one person he wants to see again that might just help him feel a little better.

He adjusts the spear on his back uncomfortably. Though it was mostly lightweight with his strength, the grief of losing his son after getting him back is now a constant weight on his shoulders. His mind is a rerun of the sight of the Jedi and the R2 droid walking away while Grogu's wide eyes stared at him, mumbling quiet coos where the sounds were lost to the distance between them.

He walks until he's among the little buildings in Mos Pelgo. Shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, the town looks even smaller, now that most, if not all, of its inhabitants are deep in slumber. The silence is familiar — many days deep in the vacuum of space were spent in the quiet until Grogu came along. When Grogu wasn't sleeping, he was eating or babbling, and Din always felt less alone.

Now, he's back in the quiet. Din missed the kid so badly.

He goes up to the one door he remembers from this town, the only building he had committed to memory, and knocks once, gently. No answer — Din knocks again.

There is a soft shuffling sound on the other side of the door before it clicks and opens, and Din is greeted with messy silver hair and tired hazel eyes. "Who the _hell_ is—Mando?"

Din has a thousand things he wants to say to Cobb Vanth — _I lost the kid. I broke my creed for him. I went through hell to find him. The Empire has dark troopers and one could've killed me. We were going to die. A Jedi came and saved us. He had a green sword of light and he easily destroyed what I couldn't. He would be a better protector to the child than I ever could. I lost the kid again. I remember the way you smiled when you saw him, like he was your own. I thought about asking you for help but I decided against it. I took on the Empire and I won but it feels like I lost. My ship was blown up and I own nothing except my Beskar. The child's name is Grogu. He responds to it happily. The way he babbles when he hears his name brings me such unspeakable joy. I will never be sick of that sound. He asked me for permission before he left. I think I'm going to cry. I miss him so much that it physically pains me to think about his name. Mine is Din Djarin. I have nothing to my name. I have no son. I have your coordinates. You said you wanted to see me again. I missed you terribly._

Only one thing comes out of his mouth, and it is broken even under his helmet. "Can I stay?"

Cobb blinks the sleep out of his eyes, processing the request and the surprise visit, and Cobb nods. He asks no questions as he sets up the spare bedroom he has, tiredly explaining that he had it for the town's residents in case any of them had problems in their own homes and needed somewhere to stay.

Despite his hot-headedness with the Tusken Raiders that Din had come to know the last time he was in Mos Pelgo, Cobb is still all manner of kind with Din.

"Sorry, this is the best I can do for now," Cobb says, gesturing to the unmade bed. "Tomorrow, maybe we'll talk, if you want to."

"I apologise for disturbing you so late at night," Din says, hoping his apology sounds sincere despite the filtered voice from the helmet. "I didn't have anywhere else to go and..." _And you said you hoped our paths would cross again so I assumed I would be welcome here, but perhaps that sentiment has changed and you're only putting me up here out of politeness._ "I'll be gone in the morning."

Cobb looks up, surprised. "What? Why?"

Din hadn't expected Cobb to ask. How is he supposed to answer that? Din's arms hang uncomfortably at his sides. "I'm intruding."

"Nonsense," Cobb says, offering Din a smile that settles his nerves even just a little bit. "You stay here as long as you need to. I've got enough room for two."

 _For two._ Din notes that it's not 'for two more', but only 'for two'. Not three, for there is only Cobb and himself now. Din still isn't used to the absence of the little green child. Cobb moves as Din doesn’t. He leaves, returning a minute later with some clothes. “I doubt you want to sleep in that so you can borrow these from me. We can get you some clean clothes from the market tomorrow. Mos Eisley’s got better clothes than Mos Pelgo.”

Cobb turns to leave but hesitates before stopping at the doorway, looking back at Din one more time, saying, “Whatever happened with the kid, I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He exits and the door seals shut behind him, leaving Din alone to take off his helmet. He sits down on the bed and takes off his boots, putting them at the side of the room. The rest of the armour comes off piece by piece, coarse metal replaced with the soft fabric of Cobb’s clothes — the same maroon shirt he wore when they first met along with a pair of black pants. He takes off the helmet so he can pull the shirt on, lifting the Beskar over his head. The breeze from the window gently runs over his face and he sits in the warmth of Cobb’s home. It’s a warmth of welcoming, and Din did feel welcome despite how unannounced his arrival was.

He’d heard Cobb’s feet shuffling off back to his own room earlier on, so Din saw no point in interrupting his rest once again with meaningless conversation. He can only try and get his own rest now.

The bed is the most comfortable resting spot Din has laid in in months. While he’d tried his best to make the sleeping compartment in the Razor Crest capable of offering a good night’s sleep, there’s only so much you can do with such a compact space, especially with a little hammock hanging above you.

A hammock that is now gone, along with said sleeping compartment and almost everything else Din formerly possessed.

Din tries to get some rest but all he can think about is the empty space above him where Grogu used to sleep.

oOo

Din wakes up with a steady stream of warm sunlight cast across his face from the crack in the window’s tattered curtain. He lies there, admittedly for longer than he normally let himself, but there’s no child to check on and no mission to get to, he reminds himself. His job was done and he’s allowed to rest now.

There is a part of Din that is willing to acknowledge that he didn’t want to move from this spot because it means that this is real, but he is also aware of the fact that he cannot stay in this room forever.

He debates over putting on the armour — he doubted that Mos Pelgo would have any need for him to go around with all his weapons, but Cobb did say they were going to Mos Eisley today, right? Din sighs, tugging the maroon shirt back over his head and dropping it to the floor, switching it out for his Beskar armour.

Din stares at himself in the smudged mirror and, with all the pain of watching his son leave him, he looked as awful as he felt. Not wanting to look at himself any longer, Din puts the helmet back on and steps out of the guest room where Cobb has busied himself with eating breakfast.

“Mornin’, Mando,” Cobb greets with a half-smile. His shirt is big and leaves his collarbones on display. “I got us breakfast. Hope you like Haroun bread.”

It is officially his first morning without Grogu.

“It’s fine,” Din says. Cobb passes him one of the buns and then turns away so he’s no longer facing him.

“I won’t look.”

“You can look.” Din figures that since Cobb won’t look and he has broken his creed enough times already, he raises his helmet enough so that he can take a bite of the bread, not revealing anything higher than his mouth.

Cobb looks, watching the lower half of Din’s face. “Thought you people can’t take that off.”

The memory of Mayfeld’s question breaks through, the provoking thought of if the rule was not to remove the helmet or not to show their face. There is indeed a difference but the line had been blurred for Din a long time ago. Now, though, he tells Cobb, “We’re not allowed to show our faces.”

“Ah,” Cobb says minutely, nodding once. “Well, I’ll try to remember to knock when you’re here. I’m not used to havin’ people around most times.”

“It’s okay,” Din assures. “A lot has changed since we last met.”

Cobb nods once more but doesn’t push any questions — Din supposes that as a de facto mayor, Cobb has learnt from experience with upset townspeople on how to deal with people. Cobb is probably waiting for Din to talk about it on his own.

Maybe it’s a bit ridiculous that he’s this upset when Grogu had only gone off to study, not died tragically, but Din had come to care for and love Grogu like a son and it’s hard to let him go. He had no idea where that Jedi temple was, no name for the blond Jedi that took him, no tracking device on that Jedi’s X-wing. He had nothing to relocate Grogu which meant that he would have to wait for his training to be complete and for Grogu to look for Din on his own or until he hears word on the street about him.

That may be a very long time. Ahsoka said he was rusty.

“I’m sorry for not giving you a heads up,” Din apologises.

“Seriously, Mando. Losin’ a couple minutes of sleep ain’t a big deal. I missed you around anyway,” Cobb says. “Once you’re done, I have two speeder bikes waitin’ to take us to Mos Eisley. I’ve got people I wanna see and things to grab, and we can get ya some new clothes to wear indoors.” Cobb dusts his hands off of breadcrumbs and reaches for the red scarf over the back of one of the chairs, looping it around his neck loosely. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that every day…”

“I’ll go with you,” Din says.

Cobb smiles. “Great. Finish up, then.”

oOo

Mos Eisley hasn’t changed much from the last time Din was there. It’s still the same spaceport — nothing notable must have happened.

Cobb brings Din to the little shops around to pick out some clothes. Din settles for clothes that cover his full body, going for long sleeves and pants. He decides that his regular boots will suffice and that there’s no need for another pair of shoes. At the most, Cobb charmingly convinces Din to buy a grey scarf and a black vest. Din had no idea when he would wear these, being sure that he will only wear his armour out and there’s no need for the extra layers in Cobb’s house, but he gets them anyway.

Once the shopping is done, Cobb has errands to run so he asks if Din would like to come along or if he has his own business to tend to. He’s certain Cobb is referring to Guild work, but Din has someone in mind.

He goes to Hanger 3-5 where Peli Motto is playing sabacc with her droids, a ship left unattended beside them. Hoping that his tone comes off light-hearted and not patronising, Din comments, “I hope you’ve finished with that ship.”

Peli turns, her face growing excited once she recognises the armour, no doubt having associated his silver Beskar with the adorable green child. “Mando, you’re back!”

“Hey, Peli,” Din greets, watching the droids bounding over. He steps back, putting some distance between them and himself — although his hatred for droids has become less blinding since IG-11 saved his life, Din still had his reservations. “It’s been a while.”

“You’re telling me!” she says, smiling and looking around. “So? Where’s the little womp rat? I missed him.”

“About that…” Din says, and Peli’s face begins to fall as she predicts what the rest of the sentence is. “A Jedi came yesterday and took him to get proper training for his powers. It was his decision.”

Peli is silent for a minute, understanding the implications of that — Din is now alone — and she awkwardly steps closer to offer a tentative hug at best. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to watch a kid go. Temporary or not, it ain’t fun.”

“No, it isn’t,” Din agrees quietly, accepting the embrace from the smaller woman. “I’m not sure when he will return.”

Peli pulls back and looks up at his helmet. “I’ve seen the kid, Mando. I know he loves you. He’ll be back.” Peli paces backwards a bit and asks, “Where’s your ship? Does it need any repairs?”

“Only if you can rebuild it from the ground up,” Din says, a poor attempt at a joke to cover the loss. “It got blown to nothing by some stormtroopers. All that survived was this spear.” He doesn’t mention Grogu’s favourite ball.

“I’m sorry,” Peli echoes, pushing her rowdy hair off of her face as she looks him up and down. “Do you… Do ya need a place to stay? This ain’t much, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“No. I’m in Mos Pelgo for now,” Din answers, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“What, do they have inns there?” Peli questions. “I’ve never been.”

“The marshal graciously allowed me to stay with him,” Din clarifies.

Peli nods slowly. “Alright… But if you need anything, I’m always right here.”

“Thank you,” Din says sincerely. “I have to go, Cobb must be waiting.”

Peli says goodbye and the droids wave at him. He doesn’t wave back.

oOo

When they’re back in Mos Pelgo, Din goes to take a shower. Since he’s not looking for any new bounties to pursue, he’d decided to take the rest of the day off and just lounge around Cobb’s house. If Cobb is willing to put him up for an undetermined amount of time, he may as well get used to the place.

When he steps out of the shower in the guest room, there is the unmistakable smell of Worrt casserole as Din realises that Cobb has left his portion of lunch in his room. Din puts on the helmet, realising how strange he looks with it while he has on a dark blue shirt and Cobb’s brown pants. He sees Cobb in the main room and asks, “Why did you put this in my room?”

Cobb blinks once, shrugging. “Thought you’d wanna eat in private, y’know. Eating’s a pain with that thing covering you the whole time.”

Awkwardly, Din says, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Cobb smiles, returning his attention to his own lunch.

Din eats in his room — Cobb is a good cook, actually. The food is warm and delicious, some of the best Din has ever tasted. It’s not like Din has had much opportunity to eat the very best foods in the galaxy, for he spent most of his meals in cantinas, buying the cheapest items on the menu so he can keep his seat while looking for people he needs to find. When Grogu came along, he had to be more careful about the food he bought for the child, but he still barely cared what he put into his own body as long as he didn’t go hungry.

Home-cooked food is truly a different kind of comfort.

They spend the next few days like this — Cobb cooks for two, leaves Din’s food in his room, and they eat separately. When they’re done, Din comes out and washes the dishes because he insists that it’s only fair; if Cobb is making the meals, then Din will get the dishes ready for the next.

“Maybe we should switch duties sometimes,” Cobb suggests. “You cook, I clean up.”

Din is almost embarrassed to admit it. “I can’t cook.”

Cobb frowns at that, folding his arms. “You know a hundred different ways to kill a man and probably every type of weapon but you don’t know how to make bantha steak? What have you been eating all this time?”

“Anything that’s safe for consumption,” Din answers. “Cantina food.”

“I’ll show you sometime,” Cobb offers kindly. “How to cook.”

Cobb’s generosity is overwhelming. In his line of business, Din hasn’t met many people who were kind out of the goodness of their hearts. No, people were kind only if Din had something to offer. In this case, Din had absolutely nothing, but Cobb is kind all the same.

The words fall out without thought. “I wish we could eat together, but I can’t.” He did wish they could; Din felt awful about not eating with Cobb when he had been nice enough to put warm food on the table and alter his own life to accommodate Din. The least he could do was eat with Cobb but even with the times he’s broken his creed while desperately looking for Grogu, it’s hard to break it now, even if he had learned from Bo-Katan that this, apparently, isn’t the Mandalorian way. At least, not the non-extremist version.

Cobb raises a hand, shaking his head. “I don’t mind. At least you clean up after yourself. One time, Decabe had to stay here for a bit ‘cause that krayt dragon tore his home in half. Absolutely refused to wash his dishes or his clothes. Drove me insane.” He chuckles, leaning against the wall to give Din a reassuring smile. “You’re a pretty damn good roommate, Mando. You don’t gotta eat with me to prove it.”

“Still.”

“If you insist, I’ve got an idea,” Cobb says, grinning.

Turns out, Cobb’s idea is this: he sits outside of Din’s room by the door with his food. Cobb says, in good nature, “Floor’s actually pretty comfortable.”

Din pauses, the spoon of stew inches from his lips, and he walks over to press his ear against the door. “Are you sitting outside the door?”

“I am. See, if you sit by the door too then we’ll be eatin’ together.”

Din ponders it and eventually picks up his bowl, moving to sit on the floor, back leaning against the door. “I’m here.”

“Great,” Cobb says, his voice muffled through the door. “What’d you do in Eisley?”

“I went to see Peli Motto,” Din answers.

“Who, Hanger 3-5?”

“Yes.”

“Met her once. Feisty in the fun way,” Cobb says, and there’s a pause where Din assumes he’s eating his stew so Din does the same. “Her droids are like kids. The way they just run around like that. When I was there, I played a round of sabacc with them. Won three motivators.”

Din huffs a laugh, then sobers up when he explains, “I was telling her that the kid left.”

A scraping of a wooden spoon against a bowl on the other side of the door. “What happened? If you wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“A lot of things happened.”

“We’ve got nothin’ but time, Mando.”

It’s true, Din knows, that time is one of the only things he had left. He starts, “The armour you bought off the Jawas, it belonged to a bounty hunter named Boba Fett. He came to claim the armour from me before the child was taken by the Empire.”

There’s another pause, though this one bore a gravity that Din knows means that Cobb is thinking rather than eating. “The Empire is dead.”

“It’s back,” Din says heavily. “Moff Gideon took the kid to study his blood. I think he wanted to use his powers.”

“The kid has powers?”

Din is suddenly aware of the fact that Grogu hadn’t had the chance to display his abilities in front of Cobb. Din had spent almost the whole time in Mos Pelgo taking care of everything, keeping Grogu out of trouble and protecting Cobb, his townspeople and the Tusken Raiders.

“He could move things with his mind,” Din clarifies, putting the empty bowl down on the floor next to him. “A Jedi told me it’s called the Force.”

Shuffling. “You met a _Jedi_?”

“I told you,” Din says. “A lot has happened.”

“So that Jedi took the kid?”

“A different Jedi did, and he went willingly. He wanted to train properly. Obviously, I can’t train him on my own. I didn’t even know what it was called,” Din says, almost self-deprecatingly. “We were on Moff Gideon’s light cruiser and he unleashed his dark troopers on us. Just one of those almost killed me if I didn’t have my spear. With an army of those, I knew we were going to die in that room. If that Jedi hadn’t arrived and destroyed them all, the kid would be dead too. It’s not my place to say he can’t go with him, I know he’s safest with the Jedi.”

Cobb says lightly, “Y’know, the way you watch the little guy… I can’t imagine anywhere else he’d be safest than with you.”

Din reaches over to the table, picking up Grogu’s ball and turning it in his fingers. Everything was too quiet without the constant cooing from the young child these days, and sitting back-to-back with Cobb makes Din wish Cobb himself had more time with Grogu before he left. He says, “The kid’s name is Grogu.”

“Grogu?” The name rolls right off Cobb’s tongue with a quiet affection that Din recognised in the way he first looked at the child.

“Yeah.”

“Suits the little womp rat.”

Din laughs quietly. “Yeah.”

Cobb’s own laugh is faint through the metal door. “How’d you even meet Grogu?”

“I’m a bounty hunter, he was a high price target,” Din says. “You know, he’s 50 years old, give or take.”

Cobb chokes on his stew and Din can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from him. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. _Fifty_?” Din can hear Cobb stand, his footsteps soft as he walks away from the door. Cobb speaks loudly to make up for the distance, “Kid’s gonna live for a damn long time if that’s fifty for him.”

Din is smiling, the first genuine time in weeks, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

“You made me spill my stew, Mando!”

And then Din bursts out laughing. He’d been clinging onto any small bit of happiness he can find these days, and Cobb spilling stew upon finding out Grogu is 50 is the funniest thing to happen in months, so Din laughs and laughs until Cobb is laughing too.

Once he hears Cobb sit back down on the other side of the door, Din says, “I really wanted to see you again.”

He can practically hear the smile in Cobb’s voice. “Then it’s good you’re here.”

“I’m sorry I took the armour. You said you were fond of it and used it to protect the town,” Din says, recalling when Boba Fett had Fennec Shand point a rifle at Grogu as he asked for his armour back. “Though, Fett was looking for it and his method of bargaining is questionable.”

“Ah, it’s fine. Town’s been quiet since you passed through and solved all our problems,” Cobb says. “The sandpeople, the krayt dragon. I actually thought it’d be nice if you stuck around a little longer but I get that you had to go.”

Din turns so his cheek is almost touching the door, as if he and Cobb are back-to-back without the metal between them, and says, “I’m here now.”

“You sure are.”

oOo

Their days go like this: Cobb gets up a little earlier for his marshal duties and prepares food for both of them. He leaves the food outside or in Din’s room depending on where Din is. If Cobb isn’t busy, he comes home and sits outside Din’s room and they talk through the door as they eat. Din has started to be accepted as part of the town by the people of Mos Pelgo, and now kids wave with excitement when they see him. Sometimes, they ask him about Mandalorian culture and he tells them as much as he knows, though he’s hesitant about his knowledge about it ever since Bo-Katan told him everything he knew was wrong.

Din keeps himself busy in the afternoons, helping out in the town wherever he can. He’s helped with some heavy lifting in the mines and the Weequay in the cantina taught him how to make a few drinks. Since his bounty hunting skills don’t have much use in such a small and peaceful town, Din has resolved to spend his time in the cantina with the Weequay, who he has learned is named Grillo. Grillo isn’t so hot-headed once he gets to know him and he’s glad to teach Din how to be a bartender. Din would never switch out his career of bounty hunting for bartending but it makes for a good new skill.

It's been two months since he arrived in Mos Pelgo when Din starts to feel like he’s finally finding his footing in the ever-shifting ground.

Coming home to Cobb is like finding a lighthouse in the dark ocean — relief and, more recently, safety.

Being a bounty hunter means Din rarely feels safe. He barely trusted his environments and he trusted people even less. Yet, he had come to trust Grogu and, with time, has come to trust Cobb as well. There is something about how genuine Cobb has always been with the townspeople that tells Din that he is a good man.

And he is. Din can see it plain as day, and it certainly takes no genius to understand the care Cobb has for each and every person in Mos Pelgo. Din is sure that if he ventured Tatooine more often, he would be the same for the other towns as well. Cobb is naturally kind and protective of those he cares for, and there is a safety in that.

Though the space Grogu has come to occupy in Din’s heart as his son will never be replaceable, Din can make room for another of a different nature, and Cobb has eventually filled that space — one that also offered comfort and company but in a special way.

In return, Din offers his implicit trust.

Which is why, when he comes out of the shower, helmet on over his regular civvies, to see that evening’s dinner in his room again, Din takes his bowl and walks out into the main room where Cobb is standing up, about to take his place outside Din’s room. Cobb watches him with one raised eyebrow, likely wondering why Din is out here, and Din sits down next to Cobb — it’s easier if he’s not directly facing him.

Slowly, Din lifts the helmet over his head and sets it down on the table before he starts eating.

Cobb blinks once, then twice, and with a quiet “huh” under his breath, he sits back down by Din’s side. He stares at Din as if pondering if he should say something or not but decides against it.

A part of Din feels self-conscious — yes, though Grogu, Cara, Fennec, Boba, Bo-Katan, Koska, Mayfeld, an Imperial officer, the nameless Jedi, and even Moff Gideon have seen his face, it’s still been decades since people have seen him without the helmet. It’s still an odd feeling to have people look at him with no Beskar barrier between their eyes and his own. Even with the hyper-awareness of his own movements, Cobb somehow eases his nerves enough for him to have his meal without abandoning it halfway to put the helmet back on again.

Cobb must know by now how unreservedly Din trusts him.

They eat in silence, but more words have never been said.

oOo

Din has been in Mos Pelgo for almost three months now and has asked Greef Karga to keep a lookout for any good bounties to send his way. Though still grieving the loss of Grogu after what he’d been through to relocate him, he knew he can’t just stay here and do nothing until his return. At some point, he had to get back in the game, and with Cobb backing him, he simply felt like he was ready to jump right into danger.

While Greef searched for a job worthy of a Mandalorian who won against Moff Gideon, Din waited by continuing light work at the cantina alongside Grillo.

“You’ve been here almost three months,” Grillo observes, cleaning out a glass to serve another customer.

“I have.”

“Not that I don’t like havin’ you around, but don’t you have anything better to do than serve drinks?” Grillo asks genuinely. Din can tell he’s going to ask where Grogu is and he’s not sure if he wants to answer.

Cobb walks in right then, his red scarf and grey hair a sight for sore eyes, and grins. “Now, no need to interrogate the guy. Just be glad you ain’t servin’ those drinks on your own.” Grillo grunts half-heartedly in response and moves to give a drink to a customer and Cobb folds his arms over the counter to beam at Din. “I’ll have some spotchka.”

“Sure,” Din replies, reaching for the bottle of blue liquid. “What are you doing here?”

“The townsfolk at the mines are itchin’ for a drink so I offered to come get them some,” Cobb explains, taking the bottle from Din. Their fingers graze as they pass the bottle over, but neither man brings it up, even if Cobb lets his hand linger over Din’s for a second too long. “You really like it in here, huh? Didn’t think Grillo made good company.”

Grillo turns, offended. “Marshal!”

“I’m jokin’, friend,” Cobb chuckles, looking back at Din. “Think you’ll bartend for a living?”

“It’s entertaining, but I’ve been bounty hunting for the better half of my life, I think I’ll keep to that,” Din says, smiling slightly despite Cobb being unable to see it.

“That’s too bad,” Cobb says, and he pats Din’s shoulder once before letting his hand run down the length of Din’s arm. “Kinda suits you.”

“He learns the drinks quickly,” Grillo praises from the other side of the bar top. “He’s a natural.”

“Must be,” Cobb smiles fondly. His hand falls away from Din’s and he exhales, pushing himself off the counter. “I better be off, the miners are waitin’ on the spotchka. Mando, I’ll see ya at home!”

With that, Cobb walks out of the cantina, leaving Grillo and Din alone once again. Grillo grabs two clean glasses and leans over to Din, saying, “I had no idea you and the marshal were lovers.”

“We’re not…” Din trails off, instantly feeling an indescribable ache in his chest at the word ‘lovers’. He struggles for a moment before he gives up, stepping out from behind the bar. “Sorry, Grillo. I think I’ll head back.”

“Fine. Ain’t many people here anyway,” Grillo says, flapping a hand in dismissal. “Tell Cobb he has to pay for that spotchka next time he comes here.”

oOo

Since Grillo called them lovers days ago, Din has had his mind full of Cobb Vanth. When he left Mos Pelgo for three days to pursue a bounty on Hoth that paid him handsomely, the only thing he could think of was that he wanted to go home.

By the time he does come home, loaded with credits and a good story to tell his friend, he forgets everything he wanted to say the moment Cobb opens the door and flashes him a grin. “Welcome home, Mando. I’m making dinner — dustcrepes. If you ain’t too tired to join me, I’ll make some more, no trouble.”

“Thank you,” Din says, stepping into the house as Cobb shuts the door behind him. “I haven’t eaten since morning.”

“Gotta start takin’ care of yourself,” Cobb chides, though there is a smile on his face regardless, and he walks to the cooking area to make dustcrepes. “Go shower, you smell.”

Din takes a shower and reemerges in a black long-sleeved shirt along with brown baggy pants that feel more comfortable than they look. He’s gotten used to being barefoot in Cobb’s home, feeling cold sandstone beneath his feet. Before he leaves his room, he slows in the mirror to fix his hair, the faint thought at the back of his mind on why he suddenly cared.

When he’s out of his room, Cobb is putting down the plates of dustcrepes side by side, assuming Din will take his place beside him like they’ve been doing for the past weeks.

Din pulls the plate over to be for the seat opposite Cobb’s and sits.

Cobb says carefully, “I won’t look.”

Din offers a soft smile. “You can look.”

Cobb brings his gaze upwards until, for the first time, their eyes meet with no Beskar between, and it feels right. Cobb laughs lightly, pleasantly surprised that Din has done this, and says, “Hey, good lookin’.”

“Oh, shut up,” Din says, unable to bite back his smile in time, and they dig into their dustcrepes, exchanging stories of Mos Pelgo and Hoth.

Din has rarely had home-cooked meals and someone to talk to over warm food, much less someone who is willing to carve a space in their life for him this readily, and has accepted him for all his misgivings and inconveniences. This is new, Cobb is new, and he is good.

Things can never be the same without Grogu, but at least things feel good. For the first time in four months, Din is happy.

oOo

Cobb comes home injured sometime into Din’s fifth month in Mos Pelgo, muttering something about how some folks in Mos Eisley got into a fight and Cobb, unfortunately, got caught in it. He has a cut on his forehead, an aching torso that will definitely bruise in the next few days and dried blood on his mouth.

Din feels his chest seize with something akin to worry and protectiveness when he sees Cobb, despite how light the injuries are compared to what Din has witnessed or even subjected to in his life. He cannot fathom why anyone would want to hurt someone as kind as Cobb, but he’s also not surprised; Cobb had enough fire in him to return a hit if someone threw the first punch.

He’s kind but not a pushover. Din liked that.

“What happened?” Din asks, reaching for Cobb’s medical equipment on one of the shelves. He gently pushes Cobb down so they’re both sitting at the dining table, gesturing to Cobb to lift up his shirt so he can work on the torso first.

“Some Mythrol was pushin’ around a Twi’lek,” Cobb mumbles, bunching up his maroon shirt so Din can tend to the injury. “Wouldn’t take her no for an answer so I hit him. Then he used me to break a table in half.”

Din manages a smile, glancing up at Cobb for a moment before returning his attention to the injury. “Couldn’t walk away.”

“Nope,” Cobb says, the corner of his mouth lifting with fondness, and Din moves up to work on the cut on Cobb’s forehead. “Y’know, you didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s the least I can do for you,” Din replies, taking a small damp towel and wiping the blood off, leaving clean skin under the cloth. Now that the crimson is gone, Din can see the cut itself. “It’s shallow, I’ll just put a bacta patch over that.”

He applies it gently and becomes aware of Cobb’s eyes following his own with a dedication that leaves Din’s chest twisting with something golden. Neither man says anything as Din grabs the towel again and rests it on Cobb’s lower lip, dragging the cloth over it to clean off the blood.

The skin catches and pulls just the slightest bit with the towel, and Din and Cobb are frozen in time, at the moment where there are only two of them and a thin cloth between Din’s skin and Cobb’s lips.

It comes out thoughtlessly, no second-guessing. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Cobb doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t think. He pushes Din’s hand out of the way and closes the space between them. Din can taste iron from the blood and spotchka from his drink — he grabs a fistful of Cobb’s shirt and tugs him closer, desperate for more. More of this, more of Cobb, more of this sweet, golden feeling in his chest.

Cobb’s hand travels up to the back of Din’s neck, mindlessly playing with the short hairs at the end before they slip down to cradle Din’s jaw — closer, closer, _closer_. Not close enough.

They break away for air — Cobb looks at him in the low light, and Din finally knows where his armour ends and where his skin begins.

“Dank farrik,” Din exhales, shaking his head as he stares at Cobb with wide eyes.

Cobb grins, cheeks rosy. Din swears his hair looks a bit more silver. “What?”

“You,” Din manages. His throat is dry.

Cobb laughs loudly and pulls the scarf around his neck to kiss him again.

oOo

Din feels much better these days. This is how his days go now: Cobb makes them breakfast in the morning and sometimes, he brings Din along on town patrols. Din still wears the helmet outside the house, though he no longer changes into full armour unless he’s headed to other towns or chasing down a new bounty somewhere else. At the cantina, Grillo teases him about it, mocking the time Din said they weren’t lovers. They come home for all their meals and they eat together, face to face. At night, they sleep in their own rooms, but sometimes, they sneak into the other’s and wake up in the same bed. Moving in with Cobb must be one of the best decisions Din has ever made.

Cobb says his name with a careful gravity where Din feels every inch of fondness in the syllable. He kisses him with meaning. He looks at him like Din holds the planets in his eyes.

By the sixth month, Din hurts less.

When it’s the sixth month, there’s a knock on the door while Cobb is showing Din how to make Tatooine Terrine. Din puts the helmet on and answers the door, greeted with the blond Jedi and Grogu.

“I’m sorry for the sudden visit. Grogu wanted to come and see you and he knew where you were,” the Jedi says, looking down at Grogu in his arms.

Grogu — he still looks the same, small and fragile, yet Din knows he is powerful, and he takes him from the Jedi’s arms. Din cannot stop a tear from falling off his cheek when he says, “Hey, kid. It’s so good to see you again.”

Grogu coos, fingers touching his helmet just like six months before on Gideon’s light cruiser, and the Jedi turns around. “Go ahead. I won’t look.”

With the Jedi facing away and Cobb coming up behind them to see what’s taking Din so long, Din takes the helmet off and presses Grogu’s forehead to his own, closing his eyes and taking in the fact that Grogu is _here_.

“Grogu,” Cobb says experimentally, and the child’s mouth falls open into an excited smile, reaching out for him. Cobb grins as Din holds him out to him and he carefully takes Grogu into his arms. “I missed you, ya little womp rat."

Grogu cuddles up to Cobb before he extends his little arm, his three fingers wrapping around one of Din’s as his other hand grabs one of Cobb’s fingers. With a wide-eyed look at Din, Grogu pulls their hands closer until their pointer fingers are pressed tip to tip.

The kid knows. Of course, he does. He’s always been so smart.

Din puts the helmet back on and says awkwardly, “Jedi, you can turn around now.”

The Jedi gives him a half-smile, his eyes flickering down to Din and Cobb’s touching fingers. “I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“Skywalker,” Cobb echoes. “Never heard of it.”

Luke simply shrugs in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way before Cobb carries Grogu into the kitchen, mumbling happily about Tatooine Terrine and how “your daddy’s been learnin’ how to cook for when you come back”. When they’re both out of earshot, Luke says, “I can sense the bond you have.”

Din raises an eyebrow. “You said that the last time we met.”

Luke clarifies, “I don’t mean you and Grogu this time.”

Oh.

Luke continues, his expression so open-hearted, “The Force helps me sense many things… I see in you the loss you felt with Grogu, the joy when you saw him. There is love there, and there is love here, with the marshal.”

Din has no idea what to say.

“I sense much trust within these walls...” Luke says, running a hand over the doorway and just letting the presence of Din and Cobb come through the Force. “This place feels… it _feels_.”

Before Din can even come up with a response, Cobb returns with Grogu who clamours into Din’s arms once more, pressing as close to his chest as he can. His hand holds Din’s fingers and Din is suddenly filled with so much love and longing, feeling everything Grogu does. He cannot speak, but Din understands; Grogu has to go.

“Be good,” Din says to the child. “I love you, kid. I’m proud of you no matter what. Now, you go and be the best damn Jedi this galaxy’s ever blinked stars on.”

Grogu smiles widely, his childish giggle bubbly, and Din chuckles as well, turning away from Luke to lift his helmet enough to press a light kiss to Grogu’s forehead. “Come back soon.”

He turns back around and hands Grogu over to Luke, and Luke bids them goodbye.

The Tatooine Terrine tastes particularly good, but maybe it’s because Din and Cobb made it together.

oOo

Cobb wakes him up that morning while wearing his helmet. The Beskar glints beautifully with the soft sunlight, but it’s not as beautiful as Cobb himself. Cobb says, “Thought you’d wanna make breakfast together.”

Din smiles lazily, his knuckles grazing Cobb’s grey beard from under the helmet. “That’s mine.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout the helmet or me?”

“Can it be both?”

Cobb’s laugh reverberates in the confines of Beskar steel and he makes a move to remove it. Din covers his eyes, joking, “I won’t look.”

Gently, Din feels the steel touch his forehead before it’s replaced with lips, and Cobb says, “You can look.”

Din’s hands fall away from his eyes and he looks at Cobb, takes him in, and they are close but not close enough. “Dank farrik, Cobb.”

Cobb grins and moves so Din has room to get up, looking over the helmet curiously as he finally brings up what they’ve disregarded for months, “I thought you weren’t allowed to take it off. What changed?”

 _You_ , Din wants to say, because this is the one other person he’d decided of his own free will to show his face to. With Mayfeld, desperate times call for desperate measures. With Bo-Katan, Koska, Cara, Fennec and Luke, he didn’t have much choice. It was either show them all his face or let Grogu go with an impersonal goodbye he knows he will regret. With Cobb, he showed him his face because he wanted to. He trusted him enough.

Instead, Din tells him the less romantic answer, “I found out it wasn’t the real Mandalorian way.”

Cobb frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Bo-Katan — another Mandalorian — she said I was a Child of the Watch,” Din says as Cobb’s hand comes up to intertwine with his in some semblance of comfort. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m starting to think… being a Mandalorian is not what I thought it was.”

Cobb ponders it, and then says, “Don’t know how helpful I can be about that, but I think whatever ‘creed’ you choose to follow, you’re a damn good Mandalorian, Din. You put that Beskar to good use, I think that makes you Mandalorian enough, and you’re the best man I'll ever know.”

_There is love there, and there is love here._

So, this is what it’s like to be in love. To be accepted for exactly who he is, to tell him that it’s fine to not have the answers. To guide when he is lost.

It tumbles out with no hesitation. “I’m in love with you.”

Cobb’s face splits into a wide grin, and he mumbles it back when his lips crash against Din’s.

It is seven months when Din has discovered a different kind of love, a new kind of happiness, but the same friend nonetheless.

For this is new — Cobb is new and familiar. This house feels, and it feels. And, at the end of the day, it is all good, and Din is in love.


End file.
